Dances with Wolves
by analith
Summary: Rhaegar Targaryen was victorious in the Battle of the Trident. He ascends to the throne, and scandal envelops The Red Keep. A battle of blood ensues in wake of a conspiracy that leaves one member of the royal family dead. Brother is pitted against brother, daughter against father. The Targaryen dynasty sits on the edge of collapse-its fate will be decided in a dance with wolves.
1. Chapter 1

Dances with Wolves

Chapter 1: The Battle of the Trident

The sounds of clashing steel and dying men tore through the air.

The riverbeds were slick with blood, of horses and men alike. The fields surrounding were chaos, battle raging on all sides. The din was deafening and disorienting. Rhaegar Targaryen almost didn't hear the shouts of his men as his foe advanced on his destrier with his warhammer raised towards him. He swung his magnificent warhorse around just in time to catch Robert Baratheon's blow with his shield. _Oak and iron guard me well, for I am dead and doomed to hell._ The wood splintered with the massive force of impact, so powerful the iron rebar had bent underneath.

"Fight me like a dragon, you bastard!" Robert roared as he reeled back for another swing of his hammer. Rhaegar did not deign to reply. His helm made it nearly impossible to see well enough to place a deathblow on his foe. In desperate exasperation, he wrenched at the leather chinstrap and flung the black enameled steel from his head. His silver-gold hair whipped about his face as he raised his sword arm and dug his spurs into his mount. The monstrous steed charged forward, each gallop hard and fast. The two warriors met in a clash of sword and hammer, splintering wood and bending iron. As Rhaegar lunged at the Stag, Robert's hammer smashed into his destrier's skull, felling the horse before it could let out a dying scream. "Aagh!" Rhaegar cried as he crashed to the ground with the weight of his horse pinning him to the riverbed. Robert vaulted off his mount and ran towards him with crazed rage in his eyes. _No. Not like this. I will not die like this. _Rhaegar loosed a grunt of pain and exertion as he pulled himself from beneath his dead steed. Robert sloshed through the knee-high waters, shouting curses and gnashing his teeth. He was a fearsome sight: black-haired, barrel-chested, a man built for war standing at six and a half feet. His great antlered helm glinted gold in the setting sun, sweat pouring from beneath and pasting his black locks to his forehead. Rhaegar pulled himself free just in time to roll away from a vicious blow of the warhammer. Robert lost his footing as his swing failed to make impact with its target, barreling him forward into the mud.

_This is my chance. I will end this damned war now._ He lunged for his foe as he was trying to roll over and regain his feet. Rhaegar threw himself across Robert's armored chest and planted a mailed fist under his chin. Robert grunted as blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. He reached upwards, angrily grasping for Rhaegar's throat with his massive fingers. Rhaegar seized the opportunity and pinned his arms to the muddy ground with his knees. "Your war is lost," Rhaegar began, panting with exhaustion while struggling to keep his adversary incapacitated. "Yield, and I will spare you. You may keep your life, but forfeit your title and lands. Take the black, and you live." Robert spat. "Never." Malice flashed across the Young Dragon's violet eyes as he raised his longsword over his head. "Pity. You have woken the dragon." He brought the Valyrian blade down and drove it through his chest, piercing armor and mail as easily as slicing butter.

Robert Baratheon let out a gurgling groan and breathed his last breath, and the prince collapsed beside him. He closed his eyes as the world dimmed around him.

* * *

Prince Rhaegar Targaryen lay abed in his pavilion whilst a maester tended to his wounds. He was utterly exhausted, covered in abrasions and bruises. He could not have looked less princely. He winced as the maester poured boiling wine over the worse of his injuries, turning his head away from the sight of his weeping flesh. He stared at the battered golden helm resting on a chair across the bed. It was the helm of his fallen foe, Robert Baratheon. The tines of the golden antlers were bent and broken, a visual representation of the conclusion of the Rebellion. Rhaegar sighed. He did not like war; the prince was not a warrior at heart.

"Your Grace," the maester started, "there has been a raven from the Red Keep. Grand Maester Pycelle reports Lord Tywin's forces have been stopped at the city gates. His Lordship had been planning to sack the city...however, his plans were thwarted just in time." Rhaegar clenched his jaw and nodded. "My family? Has any harm come to them?" The maester turned around, nervously cutting fresh dressings in silence. "Has any harm come to my family?" the prince said, more forceful this time. He did not have patience for this. "My Prince...I am sorry to inform you that your father, King Aerys, has been slain." Rhaegar sat upright, quick as lightning, wrenching his arm free of the maesters hands. "Slain? SLAIN? How? Inside the keep? By whose hand? Where was the Kingsguard?" His heart was racing, confusion and anger coursing through him while he awaited the maester's explaination. The maester was red faced, lips trembling as he backed away from the Young Dragon. "T-the Kingsguard...y-your Grace, it was Jaime Lannister. Jaime lannister killed your father upon his throne." For a moment, the prince was not sure he heard him correctly. _Ser Jaime? Killed the very king he swore to protect?_ A sudden wave of clarity washed over him. He knew King Aerys had not been sound of mind for the final years of his reign. Various acts of apparent insanity and crippling paranoia had earned him the moniker "The Mad King" among the smallfolk.

Prince Rhaegar nodded. The maester cleared his throat and said, "I am pleased to say, however, that Princess Elia and the children were not harmed. Ser Barristan escorted them to Maegor's holdfast and kept them under secure watch until Lord Tywin's forces were stopped. Your lady wife is a bit shaken, as well as the children." "Very well. Are we through?" The maester gave an anxious bow towards his prince. "Y-yes, Your Grace. I expect your wounds to heal nicely." "Good. Bring me your fastest raven and take your leave of me."

Several moments later, the maester returned with a lone raven in a wicker cage. The bird hopped back and forth, squawking noisily and flapping its dark wings in annoyance. He set the cage down upon small table. Rhaegar waited until the maester made his exit and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He paused with his head in his hands, sighing heavily. Finally, he rose and strode across to the table with the wicker cage. He picked up a piece of parchment, dipped the provided quill in the black ink, and began to write. _My dearest Lyanna..._

* * *

Lyanna Stark screamed in agony, writhing in blood-soaked sheets. Her brother, Eddard Stark, heir to Winterfell, pressed his hand to her glistening forehead and smoothed back her dark brown hair. "I can't do it, Ned. I can't. I'm going to die. Me...the babe...AAAHHH!" Her body shuddered as another wave of pain washed over her. Two midwives struggled to hold her knees apart as the maester who served at the Tower of Joy fervently worked to deliver her of the babe. Lyanna could feel herself losing strength as blood gushed forth from between her legs. _My babe...my sweet babe...gods, if I must die, spare my child._ "My lady, I can see the crown of the child's head. If you can find it you, one more great push and this will be over with." Ned held her hand as she braced herself for the next contraction of her womb. She was panting heavily, her head lolling back and forth across her sweat-soaked pillow. All of a sudden, a terrible sensation of fire burned her sex and she arched her back, groaning. Ned grunted with pain from the vicious hold his sister had had on his hand. One of the midwives continued to hold her knees apart as her companion murmured words of encouragement into Lyanna's ear. The maester was sweating with a look of urgency upon his face. He looked up to Ned and said, "if we do not deliver her of the child now, she will die within an hour. The babe as well."

"NO!" Lyanna roared. A sudden surge of strength filled her, and she gave one final, agonizing push. The midwives gasped as a tiny cry pierced the air. Lyanna let out a sound of relief and began to weep. Ned continued to hold her hand and rested his head on her shoulder. She was breathing heavily, and Ned noticed she was beginning to pale quickly. "My child," Lyanna sobbed, "give me my child." The midwife shot the maester a look of anguish and concern. He nodded, wrapped the babe in a woolen blanket, and laid it upon her belly. Lyanna looked upon the child's tiny pink face. Furtively, it opened its eyes and made contact with hers. She smiled and weakly carressed the babe's face. "It's a boy," one of the midwives said. "A healthy baby boy." "Jon..." Lyanna sighed. Ned turned his sister's face towards his own. She was slipping away. She gulped, her eyes closed. "Promise me, Ned. Promise me." His hands shook and tears filled his eyes, not wanting to believe he might be losing his sweet sister. Ned squeezed her hand. _If I die...the Mother have mercy and watch over my son...Jon...his name is Jon..._

A raven flew screaming through the open window, circling the room and alighting on the sill. A small roll of parchment was attached to its leg. The maester froze, looking to Ned as if he feared to read its contents. Lyanna listlessly turned her head to see what the raucous noise was. Jon was squalling on his mother's belly, his little pink arms flailing. Ned furtively strode over to the black bird, took its message, and sat back down at his sister's side. "Open it," Lyanna breathed. "open it..." Ned turned the rolled parchment to reveal its seal: a three-headed dragon stamped into a blot of black wax. He raised his eyes to his sister's.

"It's Rhaegar. The Rebellion is over."


	2. Chapter 2

Dances with Wolves

Chapter 2: Tower of Joy

Eddard Stark paced anxiously through the corridors of the tower Lyanna had been hidden away in for the better part of a year. The waiting was unbearable. After Lyanna had given birth to his nephew, Jon, a raven had arrived from Prince Rhaegar: the Rebellion was over. He had slain Robert Baratheon in battle. Ned was unsure on how to feel about this; he and Robert had grown up almost as brothers together at the Eyrie. Rhaegar had written in his short letter that he would make haste for the Tower of Joy, and would arrive within a fortnight. _That's quite an ambitious pace._ Nothing would stop the Young Dragon from being at Lyanna's side-he'd just won a war over it. Ned thought it rather undutiful of the prince to come here instead of returning to the Red Keep and taking up his father's reign. He sighed. Just as he turned to gaze out of an arched window, he heard footsteps approaching. "Lord Stark," puffed the maester, "I have news of your sister." He braced himself for the worst. Finally the maester came to rest at the top of the stairs, one arm against the wall to keep him from falling. "she has survived. I did not think she would, but the bleeding stopped. She sleeps peacefully under a draught of dreamwine."

_Thank the gods. _"And Jon? The babe?" the maester smiled. "He is perfectly healthy. Strong lungs and a full head of dark hair." Ned gave a small smile at that. The babe's wolf blood triumphed over that of the dragon. "When may I see her?" He asked. "Whenever she wakes. She must needs rest as much as possible. She has just been through quite an ordeal." Eddard nodded. "Of course. My thanks, good man. I must be taking my leave. Could you see that a raven is sent to Lyanna's chambers when she wakes? She will want to write Winterfell." The maester tucked his hands into his wide sleeves and gave a bow. "As you wish, my lord." He turned and started down the stairs, his grey robes rustling with each step. Ned took a deep breath. Seeing his sister nearly die giving birth to her son made him think of his lady wife, Catelyn. Soon after their wedding night, he departed for the war. A moon's turn afterwards, he received word that she was with child. _I can only pray she fares better than Lyanna. _He looked to the north from the arched window. He longed to return home. He had begun to tire of the south and its heat, its people, its noise.

_I promise I shall never leave your side again, Catelyn. I swear it by the old gods, I will not let you birth our child alone._

* * *

Lyanna slept for nearly two days. She was utterly drained; she had lost so much blood that the maester had expected her to die within minutes of Jon's birth. As she began to wake from her foggy slumber, she became aware of a deep ache of her whole body and groaned. The room was dim, lit only by the fire burning in the hearth. At least it was warm. She stretched beneath the linen sheets and cleared her throat. She could not remember being this famished or parched in her life. "Ned," she called. Her voice sounded like little more than a croak. "NED!" She tried again. _At least that was intelligible,_ she thought. Moments later she heard bustling footsteps and the heavy wooden door opened. It was one of the midwives carrying a flagon of water. She hurried across to the bed and bade Lyanna to drink. After she had gulped down nearly the entire flagon, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "My brother...I need to see my brother. And Jon. Where is Jon? Someone bring me my son." The woman stood. "At once, my lady."

A short while later, Ned entered the room, holding a squirming bundle in his arms. The maester followed closely behind with a raven, some parchment, and a pot of ink. He set the things down on the table and made his exit quickly. He must have sensed the need for privacy between the siblings. Lyanna beamed at the sight of her brother and her son. "Oh, Ned. Hand me my sweet babe!" Ned couldn't help but give a chuckle at his sister's appearances. She always had a wild look about her, but now she looked downright feral. Her hair was a brown matted nest, she had dark circles under her shining grey eyes. But she still looked beautiful. Happy, and beautiful. Lyanna had never cared so much about her looks as most highborn ladies did. Ned handed the bundle to her and eased himself into the chair at her bedside. Lyanna loosed a squeal of delight at holding her son. _He is perfect. He has the blood of the wolf._ Indeed he did: dark hair, shiny grey eyes, and ruddy northern coloring. She looked up at her brother. "Has anyone written Rhaegar? Does he know we have a son?" He shook his head. "Not yet, sweet sister. I asked that no one write until you woke. I wanted you to be able to send the news yourself." She was grateful for that. "Lyanna..." Ned began, "Robert has been slain. Rhaegar wrote that he would be making his way here and will arrive within a fortnight." Lyanna nodded. "Quite an ambitious pace he has set for himself." The siblings shared a quiet laugh. They always thought so much alike. "Well, I suppose I should write him, then. Although, I don't want to put this sweet child down. Could you pen it for me? Oh, and do you have your dagger?" Ned gave her a queer look. "My dagger? What kind of use could you possibly have for it? You're under no threat of harm here." She playfully rolled her eyes at him. "Serious as always, brother. I just wanted to cut a small lock of Jon's hair to send with my message, is all." "Oh. Of course." He leaned over and carefully shorn away a small lock of the babe's fine hair. "Now, what shall you have me write to your prince?" _I don't even know where to begin._ "Dearest Rhaegar..."

* * *

Several days passed, and Jon thrived. Lyanna was thankful he did not need a wet nurse; she wanted to feed him herself, swaddle him herself, love him all to herself. He was her greatest treasure. The love between herself and Rhaegar made flesh. Her recovery had progressed much quicker than anyone would have thought-she was already up and about, dressing herself and leaving her chambers to dine with her brother.

It was a lovely afternoon, sunny and warm. She dressed herself and made her way down the tower's many flights of steps to spend some time basking in the fresh summer day. As she was joined by a guard outside the tower doors, she spotted clouds of dust rising in the distance. It was not uncommon for there to be sand and dust storms in Dorne, but there was hardly a breath of wind. The guard shielded his eyes from the sun, squinting at the horizon. "Listen." The pair strained their ears. "Sounds to me like...horses. A whole lot of horses." _Rhaegar! My prince, you have arrived, oh, my prince. _The clouds of dust grew larger, the pounding of hundreds of hooves growing louder, the shapeless mass taking the shape of men and banners atop their mounts. Lyanna could not stop herself; she broke into a run, ignoring the shouts of protest from the guard that had been accompanying her. Nothing else mattered.

Finally, the party drew up to her, with her prince at its head. He looked magnificent: long silver-gold hair flowing freely to his shoulders which were adorned with a blood-red cape, fastened with an ebony brooch carved into the three-headed dragon of his house. He donned a black velvet doublet with matching breeches, with tall red leather riding boots. At the sight of Lyanna, his usually somber face broke into a smile. His violet eyes were shining, filled with joy at seeing the woman he had won a war for. He halted his white palfrey and jumped from her saddle, dashing to Lyanna and sweeping her up in a long embrace. When he finally released her, both lovers had tears streaming from their eyes and grins frozen onto their faces. "My prince. I have long awaited you to return to me. Come, come, you must meet our son!"

* * *

By the time Lyanna and Rhaegar returned to her chambers, the room had been prepared for the arrival of the prince. Sweet-smelling rushes were strewn about the floor, the feather bed flipped and dressed. A meal of stuffed peppers and garlic paste with hot flatbread was laid out on the table, two flagons containing water and Dornish red in the center. Lyanna took Rhaegar's hand and eagerly led him to the table. A bassinet was on the other side-sleeping Jon occupied it. The babe gave no notice to the presence of his parents. The prince stepped quietly around the table to the side of the bassinet. He gazed upon the child he and Lyanna had made. _A Northern child if I have ever seen one._ He smiled. "Isn't he beautiful?" She asked with earnest. "Yes. He has the look of his mother." He turned away from the babe and seated himself at the table. "Come, my lady. We have matters to discuss." Lyanna swept around the other side and sat down across from the prince. "Oh, what could be so important right now, Your Grace?" She teased. "Surely it can wait." _It could, but I do not want it to._ Rhaegar shook his head. "This is urgent. We have to act quickly." Lyanna seemed to only be partly listening as she filled their cups. She hummed acknowledgement absentmindedly. She was the only person Rhaegar would tolerate such carefree behavior towards himself from. He reached for the goblet Lyanna had filled with the sour Dornish wine and took a sip, swished it about in his mouth, and swallowed. "Lyanna, I mean to take you and Jon back to court with me." That got her attention. She abruptly stopped dishing food onto their plates and gave him an incredulous look. "Is this a jape?" She asked. Rhaegar shook his head. "No, it is no jape. I will not have you so far away from me again. I mean to have you by my side and to have a hand in Jon's upbringing."

He studied Lyanna's face. _Her reaction does not surprise me a single bit._ She had never been one for the intrigues of nobility, always preferring to spend her days out and about riding. Not sitting about in silken gowns having her every whim tended to by waiting ladies. "What about the Queen? Your children? Surely our presence will not be welcomed at court. You left Elia's side to fight a war over my hand. I have borne you a child outside the sanctity of marriage. If I remember correctly, nobility does not take well to bastards being raised up with their own trueborn children." Rhaegar scoffed at that. "I am the king. Why should the dragon worry itself with the opinion of bleating sheep?" He leaned back in his chair and gazed over his shoulder at Jon. "I mean to have that matter taken care of, anyway." Lyanna raised a single brow and took a bite of the pepper drowned in the garlic paste. "Oh, and how do you mean?"

He hesitated. _She's being coy. _"I won't let anyone stand in our way. Not Elia, not my children, not the small council. No one. In time, you will reign by my side. It may take years, but mark my words: the Dragon and the Wolf will rule the Seven Kingdoms as one." He fixed his gaze on Lyanna, waiting for a response. She chewed her food thoughtfully and swallowed. "You mean to kill the queen. And put me in her place." "Precisely." She smirked. "Quite an endeavor. I suppose I shall play along." "Oh, you will. I'm the king, and you _will_ be my queen."


	3. Chapter 3

Dances with Wolves

Chapter 3: 298 AL

The sun shone hotly on the Red Keep, as fiery as it was shown on the banner of the Martells. The very walls were warm to the touch on the outer parts of the castle. Normally, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen would have her window shutters wide open to let in the summer air, the sounds of the city, and the breeze to stir the stifling air inside her chambers. It was simply too hot to let any sunlight in today. _How fitting,_ Rhaenys mused. _The day two dragons shall be wed is the hottest day of summer. _She lay on the cool marble floor with a feather pillow under her head, her shiny black curls cascading like a pool of ink over the silken fabric. She took after her mother, Queen Elia Martell. She possessed the smooth olive skin and shiny black locks of the Martells. However, she wasn't as buxom and short of stature like most of the women on her mother's side; she was tall and slender of build like her father. Rhaenys was considered comely, no doubt, but in a unique way.

She was a maiden of 20 years, and had seen many a suitor presented to her since she had flowered a few years ago. None of them particularly pleased her. Rhaenys could be rather aloof and was not very concerned with matters of marriage just yet. She was grateful for this. Rhaenys wanted to marry for love, not duty; her parents' marriage was living proof of what kinds of treachery that could bring. Ladies at court whispered about her maiden status at the age of 20, but she did not care. _I am half a child still. Let them talk, I will wed when I please. _Rhaenys grimaced and twirled a curl around her finger. Today her aunt Daenerys was to wed her uncle Viserys. It was the first true Targaryen wedding since her grandparents, Aerys and Rhaella had wed many years ago. It was custom for the royal family to marry brother to sister; it was meant to keep the bloodline pure. However, her father, King Rhaegar, had no sister to marry when he came of age, so he had been wed to Princess Elia of Dorne. This was not the first time the Martells had joined houses with the Targaryens. Many years ago, her aunt Daenerys' namesake had wed a prince of Dorne.

Just as she was pondering the interwoven web of marriages that had forged her family, the heavy oak door of her chambers swung open. Rhaenys sat up and squinted to try and make out who had entered without any notice, and realized it was Daenerys. Her silver hair shone even in the darkness. Her aunt padded across the room and opened one of the shutters as to see her surroundings. Rhaenys realized she had been crying, for her face was flushed and slick with tears. "Rhae," Dany sobbed. "I can't do this. Please. Come with me to my brother's solar. I have to plead with him to free me from this marriage!" Rhaenys' heart sank for her dear aunt. They were as close as sisters and seeing her in this state upset her deeply. Daenerys threw herself forward onto the large featherbed in the center of the room, her cries muffled by the mattress. Rhaenys rose from the floor and perched herself on the edge next to Dany. "Dany, I am sorry," she said as she stroked her aunt's hair. "But you know he won't do it. The future of House Targaryen is depending on our generation. Without this marriage, we risk our dynasty crumbling. If something were to happen to my father or Aegon, there would be no heir after Viserys."

Daenerys rolled over, sniffed, and shot her neice a look of contempt. "You know that is folly. FOLLY. I don't care about any of that. If I wed Viserys, I am doomed to a life of suffering at his hand. I don't want to waste away in my own misery." Rhaenys opened her mouth to counter her statement before Dany began to talk over her. "This is rather easy for you to feel so apathetic about. You are the daughter of the king and have the freedom to choose whom you marry." This always annoyed Rhaenys when Dany complained about it. Since she took after the Martells, she was not being relied upon so heavily to continue the dragon dynasty. _Sorry, father, that I am not dragon enough for you and your ambitions. _

"Stop being petulant, Dany. You know being of royal blood comes with a price. You have a duty to the realm." Daenerys screeched in anger at her neice. "Fine, then do the realm a duty and YOU marry Viserys!" _My father would sooner wed me off to my brother before he gave me away to that monster. _Rhaenys rolled her eyes in exasperation and rose from the bed. She took a deep breath and put on an air of authority and apathy. "I will not suffer your outburst any longer," she began. "I have duties to attend to, and a wedding feast to ready myself for. Leave me and prepare yourself for the ceremony." Dany shot up from the bed and tore across the room towards the heavy oak door. "I hate you Rhae! I really truly do!" the princess yelled as she angrily slammed the door behind her.

Princess Rhaenys stood in silent contemplation for a moment after her aunt made her dramatic exit. She loved her aunt, she loved her as a sister; however, she had more pressing matters weighing on her. Suspicions of a conspiracy brewing in the Red Keep had been hanging over her head for weeks. Her king father had been acting strangely of late, spending less and less time at small council meetings, sneaking off to the outer parts of the castle without any of his Kingsguard by his side. One day she had silently trailed him, slipping in and out of the many secret passageways Maegor the Cruel had constructed. Her pursuit ended at the godswood. She perched on the ledge of a window partly obscured by a tree with bated breath, wroth at the sight in front of her: King Rhaegar in the dance of lust with the lady Lyanna Stark.

Rhaenys and everyone else in King's Landing knew that King Rhaegar had brought his mistress and bastard son back with him from Dorne after the Rebellion had ended. For years he had them quartered in a far corner of the castle, well away from the royal apartments, and he did not seem to be concerned with playing a large role in rearing the child, Jon. However, for the past year or so, he had grown increasingly restless and not his usual self. He became sly, his temper quick, and could hardly stand being in Queen Elia's company. The princess was overwhelmed with disgust and disbelief at her discovery, so much so that she didn't say a word to anyone, not even her brother, Prince Aegon. The royal siblings were very close and shared everything with one another, but she could not bear to share this burden with Aegon. He was known to be very sensitive and unpredictable in the ways he handled himself.

Some weeks after she witnessed her father's treacherous adultery in the godswood, she had trailed him again on one of his sneaky exploits and, once again, found him with Lyanna Stark. Only this time, they were discussing something with serious expressions on their faces, speaking in urgent whispers and looking about nervously. Rhaenys had strained her ears to try to make out what they had been talking about, but only caught snatches of words here and there as the breeze carried them her way.

"Elia...we must..." "No one can know..." "Feast...make our move..." She felt her chest tighten and her thoughts began to race, colliding into one another frantically, piecing the words together to form a horrible realization: her father, King Rhaegar, was planning to have her mother killed. He was planning to replace her with his Northern mistress. _ my dead body. I will not let you tear this family apart any more than you already have, father._ The princess swiftly slid down from the window ledge, and ran back to her room, closing the door behind her and sliding the deadbolt into place. It was time to come up with a plan.


	4. Chapter 4

Dances with Wolves

Chapter 4: The Dragon Wedding

Daenerys ran back to her chambers, wiping tears off her face and stumbling around corners. Rage, sorrow, fear, and hopelessness stormed through her veins all at once. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, until her voice broke and no sound came forth anymore.

Finally she came to the large oaken door of her room. Two guards were stationed on either side of it; however, they had not been there when she left.

"Your Grace," they both acknowledged. She ignored them and went inside. Dany was annoyed to find her nephew, her good-sister, Queen Elia, and her ladies-in-waiting sitting at her dining table near the windows. They were laughing and conversing like there was nothing wrong in the world, like she wasn't about to be sentenced to a lifetime of misery and agony. _How dare they? How dare they smile while I cry tears of anguish?_

"Ah, Daenerys," Queen Elia cooed, slowly rising from her seat. "Come, child. Let us have a little celebratory lunch before we get you ready for the ceremony. This is such a joyous day, your wedding day." She smiled and smoothed Dany's hair back away from her face. A look of concern flashed across Elia's face when she realized the princess had been crying.

"Auntie, what's amiss?" Aegon asked her, also rising and coming to Dany's side. He put his arm around her waist and pulled her close to him. Daenerys and Aegon were almost of an age-he was a couple years older than her, but their relationship had the nature of that of brother and sister. Aegon had the look of the Targaryens in contrast to his sister, Princess Rhaenys. His hair was the color of silver beaten with gold, brushing his shoulders. He had bright, hopeful lilac eyes and smooth porcelain skin. The Crown Prince was a beautiful boy well on his way to becoming a beautiful man.

_Why can't I marry Aegon instead? At least I would be happy. I could make him happy too. _

Daenerys cleared her throat and took a deep breath. "I'm just…sad, Aegon." She strode over to the table and took a seat closest to the window, putting her chin in her hands and starting outside dejectedly. "I always thought my wedding day would be one of the happiest days of my life, yet here it is, and I couldn't be more horrified."

A look of understanding and sympathy crossed her nephew's face. He knew how Viserys was. Everyone did across the entire Seven Kingdoms. 'The Mad Prince', he was called. No one ever said that to his face, though. Daenerys remembered a saying that she had heard long ago. 'When a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin.' Targaryens were known for their greatness but also for their propensity for madness. Like their father, Aerys II Targaryen, Viserys was unsound of mind. He was paranoid, cruel, sadistic, and prone to horrible mood swings with a temper like a volcano to match. Very rarely he could be sweet and affectionate towards Dany, but she knew that it was just a ruse. He loved to play games with her head, to get her to let her guard down, then make her regret it by terrorizing her in some new way. This sickening behavior had only become more frequent and malicious as the wedding drew nearer.

"Dear sister, don't despair," Elia began. She reached across the table and grabbed Dany's hand with her own. Dany looked at their hands clasped together; such a contrast. Dany's porcelain Targaryen skin contrasted with Elia's olive Martell complexion. She lifted her gave to the Queen's face. Such a beautiful, tired, sad face. Elia had always been frail of health and that only got worse after she had the royal children. The maesters said she would die if she ever bore another child. Her exotic yet delicate features were a welcome change for what Daenerys was used to seeing everywhere about the Red Keep: pale, freckled skins, fair mousey hair, thin pursed lips of the ladies and servants. A small smile played on Elia's full, dark lips, meant to coax a smile out of Dany. The princess smiled meekly, despite herself.

"I know how…troubled Viserys can be," the Queen continued. "But he is your brother and your betrothed. You both have known nearly all your lives that you would be wed to one another in the old Targaryen way. I was a young maid once, too. I remember how nervous and frightened I was on my wedding day. But I knew that it was my duty to be strong and set a good example for ladies across the realm and go willingly and dignified to that altar where your brother, Rhaegar, was waiting for me."

Daenerys chewed her lip. Although well-intentioned, her good-sister's words did nothing to quell her fear. _Why must I have been born a girl? With no voice in this world, no purpose or place but to wed and whelp children? _Life was so unfair. She began to fidget in her seat as there was a firm knock on the door, and three serving girls entered with their arms full of silken fabric.

The princess froze and her heart sank. _My wedding dress. _The serving girls laid the dress out on her bed and gave deep curtsies to the royal family seated at the table. Elia and Aegon nodded in approval, while Dany could hardly muster herself to do the same.

"Congratulations on your upcoming wedding, Your Grace. You will be the most beautiful lady in all of Westeros when you enter the Great Sept. Prince Viserys will be so happy," one of the girls said as she rose from her curtsy. She looked genuinely excited for Daenerys. The girl continued to smile and look at the princess expectantly, waiting for some kind of reply or acknowledgement. Queen Elia glanced at her good-sister from the side of her eye, silently imploring her to say something.

Dany cleared her throat and finally managed to squeak out a "thank you". The serving girls dipped their heads in unison and shuffled out of the room. The door firmly closed behind them. To the princess, it sounded like the doors of a dungeon cell closing her in, trapped inside to prepare herself to wed her brother. She abruptly stood up from her seat and briskly walked over to her bed where her wedding gown lay. At the sight of it, tears pricked her eyes and she sharply inhaled. _What a pity, I must wear such a beautiful garment on such an ugly day._

The dress truly was beautiful, crafted by the finest seamstresses in King's Landing and made from the finest silks from across the Narrow Sea. It was a deep purple color with long, dagged sleeves that nearly reached the hem of the gown. The sleeves were lined with cloth of gold on the inside and embroidered richly along the cuffs with golden thread. The bodice had a low-cut neckline and an armored corset made of gold, the sigil of House Targaryen wrought in elegant spindles at the very center. The edges of the corset were encrusted with amethysts and topaz, so extravagant and dazzling. The skirt of the dress was long and full, with a Myrish lace train and a veil to match. Dany turned to her good-sister and ladies-in-waiting.

"Well, then. I suppose I should start to get ready…" she trailed off, turned her head, and caught her reflection in the mirror. The sight of herself almost made her start crying all over again. She still looked such a child; short frame, narrow hips, only the beginnings of breasts budding on her chest. Her long silver hair cascaded down her back in soft waves. Her face looked so delicate and sad.

The Queen nodded and touched Aegon on the shoulder, silently signaling that it was his time to leave. Aegon strode across the room, stopped to plant a kiss on Dany's cheek, and made his exit.

* * *

It had taken three servants and most of the day to ready Daenerys for her wedding. She had been bathed and scrubbed until she glowed pink, her hair washed and combed with oil that smelled of roses and lavender. Her hair had been styled into an ornate arrangement of braids piled atop her head. After all of her bodily beautifying had been attended to, it was time to don her gown.

Two ladies held the gown open for the princess to step into and one stood behind her to begin lacing her corset. Daenerys held her breath, trying not to let out any gasps as the girl pulled the laces tighter and tighter. Just when she thought she could not bear it to be pulled anymore, the Queen let the girl know it was enough and finished tying it up. The gown was shimmied up Dany's body, the bodice very fitted yet flattering. Once she was dressed, she strode across to her vanity and opened a carved wooden jewelry box. The princess sighed at the sight of her mother's jewels and crown.

Dany gingerly picked up the crown and placed it among her braids. The crown was so elegant and beautiful, her most prized possession. It was made of white gold, fine elegant spindles that came forward into a point at her hairline, tear-drop shaped diamonds and rubies embedded along the center circlet. It made her look absolutely regal.

Next, she clasped a matching necklace around her throat, the cold metal and gemstones causing gooseprickles despite the summer heat. With the final addition to her garb, Dany whirled about and studied her reflection from all sides. Her appearance made her smile a little. _Even if I am to marry a monster today, at least I will be the most beautiful lady in Westeros. _

All the while, Queen Elia watched quietly from her perch on one of the chairs at the table. She studied her good-sister's face with an ache in her heart. Elia stood and walked over to Dany, gently grabbing each of her hands and holding them to her heart. Dany looked her in the eyes for the first time that day. Her deep, dark, sorrowful eyes with their lush eyelashes and faint circles underneath.

_I never realized how much sadness she holds in her face, _thought Dany. Her moment of happiness was fleeting and left when their eyes met. The princess tried her best to put on a strong face for Elia, drawing herself up with a deep breath and lifting her chin.

"Your mother would be so proud of you." said Elia as she caressed Dany's cheek. "You look so much like her. And act like her. Part of her is still with us in you." a single tear rolled down Elia's face and she looked away, dropping her hands and clasping them in front of her.

Daenerys didn't know what to say; she had never known her mother. Rhaella had died giving birth to her. All her life, Dany felt a deep longing, a hole in her heart where she knew her mother should be. She wished more than anything that she were here with her on this day, this woeful day that she would wed her brother. The princess knew little of her mother, but she had been told by many that she had a gentle heart and loving soul, with a strong demeanor despite the atrocities she was put through by her brother-husband. Daenerys needed her strength right now.

Suddenly, there was a firm knock on the door and one of the guards entered with King Rhaegar. He was dressed splendidly, but wore a solemn expression on his face. He and his wife exchanged looks before he turned to his little sister.

"It is time," he sighed. "I have come to escort you to the Great Sept."

* * *

From inside the lavish carriage, it looked as if all of King's Landing had assembled along the route to the Great Sept to see the prince and princess wed. The city folk cheered for her, called her name, shouting their blessings and tossing grains of rice. Countless singers and musicians followed the procession, adding to the din with their song.

Princess Daenerys concentrated on the world outside her small curtained window, willing herself not to cry. As they drew nearer and nearer to the sept, the tightness in her chest grew and a lump formed in her throat. _Be strong. I must be strong. For Mother. For the realm._

Elia and Rhaenys had insisted on riding in the carriage with Daenerys, but she asked to ride by herself. In the event she started to cry, she did not want anyone to see her. She knew she could not appear to act like a little girl anymore. She was a maiden flowered, about to be a lady wed.

The carriage slowed and drew to a jostling stop. A Kingsguard opened the small door and offered her his white-gloved hand, helping her step down onto the cobbled steps of the sept. Dany squinted and shielded her eyes from the sun, holding her skirts up with the other hand while two ladies-in-waiting scrambled to keep her train from dragging on the dusty ground. Rhaegar was waiting for her at the top of the stone steps, looking at her with eyes that seemed to say, _I'm sorry. _Dany lifted her chin and did not say a word to him as she reached the top and he gently cupped her elbow with his hand.

"This is it now, Daenerys. You are no longer my baby sister, but a beautiful young woman. I have watched you grow from birth, grow into the spitting image of our mother that I loved so dearly. Please make her proud today and do your duty the to the realm with dignity and honor."

The princess only looked at him out of the corner of her eyes, still angry at her brother for upholding this tradition. She wanted to scream at him, slap him and tell him it wasn't fair, why must she be forced to wed but Rhaenys gets to do as she pleases? But she knew it was useless. Rhaenys was the king's daughter, she could do whatever she wanted. Rhaegar had always been passive and lax with his daughter, however, for some reason, he always had a fatherly sternness about him whenever dealing with Daenerys.

Dany said nothing to him, only looking straight ahead into the dim sept. She could smell the smoky incense and hear the rhythmic chanting of the septons from outside the doors. Slowly, she began to walk forward. _One foot after the other. _She silently reassured herself as Rhaegar escorted her down the aisle, the aisle that seemed to go on forever. The sept was packed with nobility from all across the Seven Kingdoms, dressed in their finest, smiles frozen onto their faces. _Stop, _she wanted to scream at them. _Stop smiling. You have nothing to smile about. I am walking to my doom. _

Finally, after what seemed like a thousand leagues, they came to a stop at the altar where Viserys and the High Septon were waiting. Both men wore crowns; Viserys' was a thick golden band that rested on his brow, large square-cut rubies set along the crown. The High Septon wore a towering crown of crystal, reflecting light in every direction and casting rainbows on their faces. Dany looked at her brother-husband's face, trying not to cringe. He wore a sly smile on his lips, hungry lust and malice dancing in his violet eyes. His gaze bore holes into her. She wanted to look away, but knew it would look improper and would most likely incur Viserys' wrath later on during the bedding. He was always taking little things as slights to his person and lashing out at whoever he imagined had wronged him.

The High Septon bade them kneel whilst he recited holy scripture describing the sanctity of marriage in the eyes of the Seven. He spoke of the Father, granting the couple protection and good judgement in rearing a family; of the Mother, to bless Daenerys with many children and good health; of the Crone, to give them wisdom; of the Smith, to bestow strength and longevity to their love, and so on. All of the gods received their dues while Daenerys held her brother's hand, her palm sweating and heart racing.

After what had seemed like a lifetime, they were finally bade to rise, kiss, and go forth as man and wife. Polite cheers and applause sounded from the gallery, ladies tossing flower petals at the couple's feet as they made their way out of the dark sept and into the hot sunlight of King's Landing.

Viserys turned to his sister-wife, his lip curled in a malicious smile. "Smile, sweet sister. Show the city folk how joyous this day is for you. You don't want to wake the dragon, do you?"

Daenerys swallowed and took a deep breath, nostrils flaring. "No, dear brother. I don't want to wake the dragon." Her brother nodded in approval and firmly pulled her forward as he began to walk down the steps towards their carriage that would take them back to the Red Keep for their wedding feast.

_I do not want to wake the dragon in you, _Dany thought, _but unfortunately, you have already woken the dragon in me. _The princess pressed her legs together after she took her seat inside the carriage, smiling at the presence of the cold steel dagger fastened to her thigh.


	5. Chapter 5

Dances with Wolves

Chapter 5: Waking the Dragon

The wedding ceremony was almost painful to watch. The sept had been crowded with the great lords and their families, all feigning happiness for the prince and princess. Rhaenys, Aegon, Elia, and Rhaegar all sat tensely in the foremost row, watching as the High Septon bound Viserys and Daenerys together for life. Binding Daenerys to a life of misery. It took everything in Princess Rhaenys not to bolt out of the sept and into the carriage to take her back to the Red Keep. She couldn't bear sitting next to the man who was planning to kill his wife, his queen, her mother. And she couldn't bear sitting next to her mother with this knowledge of such a heinous conspiracy against her, not saying a word.

Rhaenys discreetly scanned the crowd out of the side of her eye, trying to see if Lady Lyanna and the bastard boy were in attendance. It was dim and smoky inside the sept, and crowded to boot. From where she was, she couldn't see them. She was glad for it. The last thing she needed was to see that Stark woman daring to be in the same room as her mother.

After what seemed like an eternity, Viserys and Daenerys shared a chaste kiss and began their walk down the aisle out of the sept. Slowly, the royal family began to follow behind them, signaling the end of the ceremony. All at once, the great lords and their families rose, chattering away, skirts rustling, boots clicking against the stone floor. The sudden din and commotion only added to Rhaenys' foul mood.

The princess watched with pity in her heart as Daenerys climbed into the carriage before Viserys. She looked as if she were being marched to her death. _She very well could be._ Rhaenys sighed and wrung her hands in her skirts, trying to hide the distraught look on her face. Now was not the time to draw questions from her father about what was bothering her. She feared if he did, she might just slap him.

Just as the ceremony felt like it took a century, the ride back to the Red Keep felt too long. The entire time, Rhaenys avoided her brother's inquisitive gaze and looked out the window. For a second, their eyes met, and no words were needed for her brother to know that something was amiss. Aegon was one of the few people who knew Rhaenys well. He began to open his mouth as if he were going to ask her what was wrong, but he thought better of it. Rhaenys shot him a look that said, _not now. _He nodded in understanding and shifted his attention to looking out the window as well.

Finally, the carriage came to a stop. Rhaenys couldn't get out of it fast enough. _I need to get Mother alone. I need to warn her. _She waited impatiently for Elia to step down from the small door and strode over to her, taking her firmly by the hand.

"Mother...please, I need you to come with me. Please." Rhaenys pleaded, putting as much worry into her face as possible. She needed to ensure that she could get just one minute alone with her, one minute to save her life.

Elia looked a bit startled at her daughter's strange behavior. Rhaenys usually didn't wear her emotions for anyone to see. She looked into her eyes and saw frantic fear.

"Sweetling, what is it? Can't it wait until after the feast?" Elia asked. Her daughter's eyes widened, her nostrils flaring and her grip tightening.

"Mother. No. It cannot wait. Please, you have to come with me, I need to speak with you more privily...this is very important."

The Queen looked slightly annoyed, but sighed and relented. She gave a quick nod and let the princess lead her briskly to a remote courtyard around the corner from the throne room. They didn't have much time; very shortly, it would fill with wedding guests being ushered to their places inside.

Rhaenys drew her mother down onto a low bench behind a line of rose bushes. The fragrance of the blooms was sickeningly sweet, magnified by the heat and sun. She took hold of both her mother's hands and looked her full in the face.

"You cannot let on that anything is amiss. You cannot say anything to anyone, not even Aegon. Your life is at stake."

Elia reeled back a bit, her face incredulous. "Is this a jape? This is not funny, Rhaenys. What are you talking about?"

"I swear it by the Seven, this is no jape. I have been following Father on his secretive excursions to the other side of the castle for the past few weeks. He has been meeting with the Stark woman, doing terrible things, shaming our House."

The Queen looked around nervously. "What do you mean, 'shaming our House'? Why is my life at stake?"

Rhaenys sighed impatiently. They were running out of time. "Father is plotting to kill you. He and Lady Lyanna have been planning something. The last time I followed them, I could only hear snippets of their conversation, but I heard something about the wedding feast. I'm afraid they're going to try to poison you..." Tears of anger and fear began to well in her dark eyes.

Her mother looked void of emotion, her face blank. She looked down and away from her daughter, relinquishing herself from Rhaenys' vice-like grip. Elia licked her lips and tucked a black curl behind her ear, taking a deep breath. "How...why..."

"I don't know, Mother. I think Father plans to take Lyanna as his queen. I can't tell if this was his notion or hers, but that matters not. It is still a most horrible conspiracy and you must not attend the feast, under any circumstance."

"Rhaenys, I cannot just take leave of such an important celebration. People will be sure to notice...there will be talk."

The princess rolled her eyes, looking over her shoulder. "Let them talk! I will say you are abed with heatsickness. That is not an unreasonable explanation. Please heed me..."

Elia gave a curt nod and pursed her lips. She slowly rose from the bench and started towards the door to the throne room at a brisk pace. Rhaenys leaped up and followed her, determined to not let her mother out of her sight.

Two guards stood on either side of the door, bowing at the sight of the princess and queen. "Your Graces," they acknowledged.

Right on cue, Elia donned a faint look and leaned slightly upon her daughter's shoulder. She looked at her daughter with a forlorn look, silently bidding her to tell the guards that she would not be attending.

Rhaenys cleared her throat and said, "Sers, my lady mother is not feeling well. I believe she is suffering from heatsickness. May one of you accompany us to her chambers, and send for a maester? I am very worried about her."

Both guards straightened and gave dutiful nods. "Yes, Your Grace. Right away. Please, let me help you, my queen." The guard took Elia carefully by the elbow and began to escort them to the queen's chambers. The mother and daughter shared a quick look of relief, and Rhaenys put her arm around her mother's waist.

When they arrived to the queen's rooms, Rhaenys led her mother to a large cushioned chair next to the hearth and lit the fire herself. When the flames had begun to crackle and dance steadily, radiating pleasant warmth throughout the room, she stood and brushed off her skirts.

"My mother will remain here for the evening. I think it is best for her health that she decline to attend the wedding feast. I would like two guards stationed outside her chambers, and no one is to enter without my leave." Elia watched her daughter give the orders, and gave a small nod when she was finished. Rhaenys turned towards her mother and squeezed her hand tightly. "Please do not leave these rooms. I know not the exact nature of Father's plans, but he could have catspaws prowling the halls at any time. I will not let any harm come to you. I will not let him hurt this family and the realm more than he already has."

Elia's face was a grim mask, her hands beginning to sweat nervously in her daughter's grasp. "You have my word, I will stay put. Try to enjoy yourself this night, and try your best to not let on that anything is amiss. Dany is under enough stress, and you know how your brother can be."

The princess gave her mother a quick peck on her smooth olive cheek and briskly walked out of the chambers, back to the throne room.

_Unbent. Unbowed. Unbroken._

* * *

Daenerys and her brother-husband were seated on the right side of the Iron Throne, next to their brother, King Rhaegar. The feast had just commenced and all eyes were on the dais, observing the new bride and the rest of the royal family. Only after she heard the whispers and saw the curious looks from those below the salt did she notice her good-sister, the queen, was not present. She glanced over at Rhaegar and studied his face; he almost never showed his emotions, but tonight he looked anxious, even a bit angry. Dany sat back in her seat and took a long, healthy drink from her goblet.

Beside her, Viserys was drinking heavily and making bawdy comments about Daenerys to the servants who filled their plates. On the other side of her, Rhaenys and Aegon sat together. Aegon seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself, for this was the first royal wedding he had ever attended. Rhaenys, while normally stoic and reserved, was even more so this evening and neither looked at or spoke to anyone. She ate little and seemed to be brooding in her thoughts.

_Everyone is acting so strange tonight, _Dany thought. She knew that this wedding wasn't exactly the most joyous occasion, but she at least expected her family to play the part. What bothered her the most was her eldest brother's behavior. Rhaegar was always the picture of courtesy, a kind and kingly presence...but tonight, he was not himself. Daenerys wondered if it had anything to do with the queen being absent from the feast.

After all seven courses had been served, Rhaegar motioned for the musicians to prepare for the first dance between the bride and groom. All the lords and ladies were gathered around the dance floor, watching politely while Daenerys and Viserys waltzed about the clearing. Dany felt like a puppet, her movements stiff and her mind absent. This could not be over fast enough.

When their dance was finished, the rest of the nobility moved onto the dance floor. The room was filled with the sounds of the musicians playing, skirts rustling, drunken laughter. It all annoyed her. She just wanted this mummer's farce of a feast to be over with, to just get on with the bedding. However, she didn't anticipate it the way most young maids do on their wedding night; she had other things in mind.

* * *

"Get that gown off her! Let's see what the Prince is dining on tonight!" The hands of dozens of sweaty, drunk men grabbed and tore at Daenerys' wedding gown, trying to get her down to her smallclothes by the time they reached the newlyweds' chambers. She tried to hide her annoyance and embarrassment, but her bright red cheeks betrayed her. Of course, this only drew more bawdy comments from the men who were carrying her to her marriage bed. Daenerys closed her eyes and just tried to shut everything out, sucking in deep breaths to calm herself.

_I am not weak. I am a dragon. I will not submit to a life of misery. Viserys will regret his insolence when I am through with him. _The large oak doors of the chambers were shoved open and the mob dropped Daenerys onto the giant featherbed where her brother waited for her, his face flushed from drink and his lip curled in a malicious smirk. As the doors slammed closed, he began to advance towards her, licking his lips and stumbling over his own hands. Daenerys slowly tried to inch away from him, trying to hide her face from his vicious gaze.

"Look at me, girl! I am your husband, you are mine now. You will do as I say. LOOK at me!" Viersys grabbed Dany's arm and wrenched her around, bringing her face within inches of his. She wrinkled her nose at his breath; he stank of wine and remnants of the feast. Fiery anger flashed in his eyes and he brought his hand up to strike her. Daenerys was quicker than him, though, and grabbed him tightly about the wrist to stop his blow from landing on her cheek. She looked him full in the face now, hatred coursing through her veins and her violet eyes flashing.

"Do not dare to strike me," Daenerys said defiantly, tightening her grip on her brother's arm.

"You bitch," Viserys started. He swung his leg over her and sat on her stomach, holding her down with his weight. "You have woken the dragon! I will not suffer a little bitch of a girl daring to defy me!" He continued to hold her down while he started to simultaneously wriggle out of his smallclothes, and tear hers off of her body.

Just as he was about to take her maidenhead, he froze; Dany had pulled the dagger she had hidden against her thigh and poised the edge of the blade against his manhood. Daenerys smirked and shook her head. "Oh, dear brother...I think not." Viserys gulped and his hands began to shake. She pushed him off of her, steering him off the bed and pushing him towards the hearth, where a fire was burning.

"Daenerys...what are you doing...Daenerys! Stop! Let go of me!" Viserys pleaded like a terrified little girl, raising his hands in front of himself defensively. Dany just laughed.

"You will never. EVER. Hurt me again. You thought I had woken the dragon in you, brother, but you were wrong; you have woken the dragon in me." With those words, Princess Daenerys Targaryen slashed the prince's manhood off and pushed him into the flames as he screamed in agony and fear. She bound over to the door and barred it to prevent anyone coming to Viserys' aid.

Daenerys leisurely strolled over to the giant featherbed in the center of the room, sat, and watched her brother burn. The sounds of his screams were joined by the pounding of guards at the door, insisting to be let in to save the dying prince from his fiery death.

_Fire and Blood. _

Finally, Viserys Targaryen went silent, slumped against the wall of the hearth, and died. The floor was covered in soot and blood.

"Fire cannot kill a dragon." Daenerys whispered to her brother's burnt corpse. She threw the bloody blade into the flames, shrugged on a silken robe, strode over to the door, and let two guards in.

The two men looked horrified at the sight of the prince's decimated body curled in the bottom of the hearth, still smoldering. "Your Grace, what happened?" One guard asked the princess, pure confusion etched on his face.

Daenerys did her best to contain her mirth. She cleared her throat and said, "He-he was in his cups...he was dancing about the room and he just...he just fell into the flames."

The guards exchanged unsure looks, unsure of what to make of the gruesome scene. Eventually one of them shook himself from his disturbed daze and strode over to the princess. "Your Grace, we should take you to your chambers...you need not see such a horrible sight."

"As you say, ser." Daenerys allowed herself to be led back to her own rooms, a small smile playing on her lips as she watched people frantically running towards the room where her brother lay dead. She was finally free; she had awoken the dragon within her. And absolutely nothing could put out the fire that now burned within her.


	6. Author's Note

Author's Note

Hello everyone,

First, I would like to thank you all for your views and comments on this story. It means a lot! I know I've been slow on updating, and that's actually what this note is all about.

In the midst of working on the next chapter for Dances with Wolves, I encountered some computer issues and lost all of my saved files. My computer had to be reformatted so I am working with a clean slate. Aside of that, I have a very hectic schedule that is only getting more hectic with the new semester, so I do not have as much time as I would like to write.

I know I have stated on my profile that I would like to update my story every week, but at this point in time, that may not be possible. I apologize for the long waits and inconsistency with publishing. I am trying my best to pick it up and get another chapter going as soon as possible. Thank you so much for your patience with me. Happy reading!

-Analith


	7. Chapter 6

Dances with Wolves

Chapter 6: Brothers

The castle was under a strange, tense air since the night previous. Jon's uncle Viserys had died shortly after his wedding feast, in his own bedchambers. It was said he was in his cups and toppled into the fireplace and burned to death. Others whipsered that it was no drunken accident at all, that his aunt Daenerys had slain him to escape their marriage bed. Both stories sounded queer to him. Jon contemplated his uncle's mysterious demise as he lazily slashed at the air with his practice sword. He had never been close with his uncle, so Jon was not greatly saddened by his death. But the shouts and screams he heard bouncing off the walls of the stone corridors, his mother's panicked state, and the haunting emptiness of the grounds bothered him. Usually this place was bustling with activity, the young lads of the castle's nobility training with the masters-at-arms and the squires hurrying around at the behest of their knights. Today, Jon was by himself.

At least, he thought he was. He heard the faint rustling of skirts and the scuffing of boots on stone. Jon stopped what he was doing and looked about him, squinting against the sun to spot where the sound came from. Startled, he spotted his royal half-siblings across the yard. Rhaenys and Aegon had perched themselves on the ledge of an archway and were silently watching him from the distance. _This is unnerving,_ Jon thought. He almost never saw the royal children and they most certainly had never gone out of their way to see him before. Cautiously, he put down his practice sword and plopped down beside it on the dusty ground, drew his knees up, and watched them right back. His long, solemn face was devoid of emotion, just a mask with two grey eyes looking out.

He could see Rhaenys half-squinting, half-glaring at him and whispering something to her younger brother. Aegon seemed to brush her off and he continued to watch Jon with a much more thoughtful gaze than that of the princess. She was visibly annoyed. She swiftly stood, wringing her hands in her skirts, and brusquely strode out of the courtyard. After a few moments, Aegon craned his neck around, searching for any sign of his sister. And to Jon's astonishment, dread, and excitement, Aegon ran to his half-brother.

Jon quickly scrambled to his feet, kicked his sword away from him and began to bow to the prince. Aegon silently shook his head and put his hands on both of Jon's shoulders. He lifted his gaze to the prince's face and tried to stammer our some courtesies. Aegon smiled at him and gestured over to a stone bench for them to sit down. As he walked over to the bench, Jon felt as though he was floating in a dream. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, colliding with one another but none of them made any sense.

"What's the matter, brother?" Aegon asked. He wore a genuine look of concern on his comely face. Jon shook his head slightly and opened his mouth to reply.

"I...my prince...to what do I owe the honor of being in your presence?" He gulped. _Stupid, stupid, I must look a blubbering fool to him..._

Aegon's brows furrowed and he cocked his head a bit to the side. "Jon, you needn't be so nervous. I know I haven't sought you out before, or atttempted any kind of brotherly relationship with you, so I understand your surprise. But we are of an age, in important phases of our lives. All my life, I've wanted a brother, but my royal mother could bear no more children after she gave me birth. I love my sister dearly, do not get me wrong; but it just isn't the same. I think it's time that we break the walls our mothers have built around us and live like normal siblings. I want someone to spar with, go riding with, get up to no good with. Yes, there's plenty other young lads about the keep, but no number of them will ever match having my brother by my side. I am sorry I did not come to you sooner." His light purple eyes suddenly looked sad and he looked away. Jon could hear him taking deep breaths and scuffing the toe of his boot against the cobbled stone.

Finally, Jon cleared his throat and said, "My prince...I mean...Aegon. Can I call you that? Aegon? Er...well, anyway, it is I who should apologize. All these years I have held false notions that you despised me. I feared you, your sister, and your mother. I should have been braver and made myself available to you first. You have done me no wrong and I hold no ill feelings towards you. I have longed for a sibling all my life, especially a brother. So for you to come to me today with your kind words is a dream come true. I'm sorry if I sound like a jittering young maid, but I never thought this day would come. Thank you." He flashed a timid smile at the prince and the two boys clapped each other on the back and stood to embrace.

Then Aegon said, "It seems I should be getting back to my lessons now. Rhaenys will be annoyed with me for dawdling out here for so long."

Jon nodded, smiled. "Aye, I'll take my leave then. It was good to see you, brother. Hopefully this won't be a scarce occurrence going forward."

"Gods, no. Mayhaps I'll seek you out on the morrow for some riding and sparring." And with that, Aegon strode swiftly from the courtyard, leaving Jon alone again.

* * *

Jon Snow half-skipped, half-ran back to his chambers. His excited footsteps echoed and bounced off the stone corridor walls, creating a chorus of sounds that made it seem as if dozens of others were walking beside him.

When he reached the apartments he shared with his mother and their servants, he threw open the door, mouth curved into a smile. But Lady Lyanna wasn't alone; Jon stood silent and the smile dropped off his face. The king was present in their solar.

King Rhaegar and Lady Lyanna appeared to be deep in conversation, their faces inches from one another, donning serious expressions. Upon hearing the door swing open, they both startled and turned in unison to see Jon standing in the doorway. Lyanna hastily got to her feet and bustled over to her son, putting her arm around his waist and guiding him over to the table where she and the king had been sitting. He came with her very reluctantly.

Jon wasn't afraid of his father, the king; he just never knew how to act around him. He had never spent any time with him alone, or much time with him at all for that matter. Their relationship wasn't of the same nature as the ones the king shared with his trueborn children.

The king stood and nodded at Jon. He was a tall slender man, and at 16, Jon was catching up to him. His build seemed to be the only thing he inherited from his father. Normally, Jon would have kept his head bowed and hands clasped behind his back in the presence of His Grace, but the day's earlier events inspired a new confidence in him. Jon stood tall and straight, and looked his royal father straight in his lilac eyes.

"Your Grace," he acknowledged.

Rhaegar smiled at his bastard son and gave a little bow. "Jon. Your lady mother and I were just talking about you. You seem to be in higher spirits than I normally see you in, today. To what, or whom should I say, do I owe that pleasure to?"

"Ah..." Jon cleared his throat and shifted his stance a bit. "I was just practicing in the yard, my king, and Prince Aegon paid me a visit."

This certainly seemed to surprise Rhaegar. He was not blind to the absence of a relationship between his two sons for all these years. A queer look washed over his face but dissolved almost immediately. The king was never one for showing his emotions on his sleeve.

A short, awkward silence followed and Jon looked from his father, to his mother, and back again, silently imploring his mother to say something with a pleading look. Finally, when it became clear she wasn't going to say anything, Jon decided to be bold and ask something of the king himself.

"Your Grace, may I inquire as to why you were discussing me with my lady mother?"

Lyanna's grey eyes widened and her mouth became a firm line, while Rhaegar did not betray any thoughts or feelings this question may have triggered. He simply continued looking at Jon with a calm, steady gaze.

"Jon, I do not think that now is a very good time to disclose my conversations with your lady mother to you. Do not take it personally. There are just some important matters here at court that I wanted to address with her."

_So what do I have to do with important matters at court? _This day just went from odd to troubling. First Rhaenys and Aegon watching him in the courtyard, now his mother having secretive conversations with the king in their solar...something must be amiss. Jon now questioned the true nature of Aegon's visit, and if his words were genuine or not.

With that, the king abruptly gave his apologies and took his leave. Lyanna did not say a word, and left the solar moments after the door shut. Jon was now alone in the solar with his confusion and his thoughts. He skulked over to the table where his parents had been sitting and pondered a short stack of ancient-looking tomes, some with leather binding and golden script on the spines in a runic language. There was one, however, that caught his eye above the rest: a blood-red volume at the top of the stack, a black ribbon slipped between the pages at the center of the book. Jon delicately lifted it away from the others and placed it on the wooden table before him.

There were no inscriptions on the outside of the book, it was just unmarred, supple leather. Jon sighed and looked about warily, opening the book. The pages released a spicy, warm aroma when opened and felt smooth as silk under his fingertips. He flipped through the first few pages, noting that half of the text seemed to be in Valyrian and the other half in the Common Tongue. On the page he stopped on, however, there was only one set of text in the center of the page, scripted in black maester's ink and expertly penned.

It simply read, "_Azor Ahai_".


End file.
